


Remembrances Of The First Time I Met You

by scorpionmother



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: Falling In Love, First Meetings, Loss, Love, Multi, Sharing Body Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 11:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7266139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpionmother/pseuds/scorpionmother
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lito is feeling the heat.  Riley is cold.  They share benefit from the temperature of each other and share sweet memories of first meetings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remembrances Of The First Time I Met You

The trailer is hot and stuffy, airless despite the infernal whine and rattle of the air conditioning unit. The temperature has been hitting 40 degrees for over a week now and once again he wonders why the fuck they insist on filming in the hottest part of the day. There must be a law against it, there should be a law against it. He makes a mental note to call his lawyers or at least get his agent to do it.

At the edges of his mind he can feel the other Sensates like a gentle awareness. Sun is finally asleep in the heat of her cell, her breath hot against the thin mattress, her mind caressed with the sweet memories of her beloved dog. Nomi too is asleep, her body stated, still damp with the sweat from making love is draped over Nita, their legs entwined and her mind too is peaceful for a while. Heat also radiates off Caph his mind burning with images of Van Damme an escape into happiness for a while away from the drudgery of the life he faces daily. And Kala and Wolfgang are together and yet distant as always. He sits and watches her, his eyes hot on her body following her every move, his hands clenched and flexing the ache to touch her almost tangible, as she works tirelessly to find a way of helping Will block the constant and ever present threat of Whispers. To release him from the drug induced cage of his mind.

Will’s mind is still lost to him and he feels the loss keenly. It is to Will he feels most a tune, to whom he slips most easily to, to whom he feels closest. The spark of attraction is ever present between their minds since they shared making love. During quiet times he’d often find his attention drifting to that sun soaked afternoon and Will’s mouth soft, questioning against his. The feel of his taunt flesh, the skin satin smooth over ridges of muscle under his palms and he knows that Will shivers too, although the young police officer buries it deep under his love for Riley. And it is to her he goes to now. 

She is cold. He can feel it biting into her skin as she stands on the grey shingle of the beach looking into the silver sea. She seems somehow lost on the wide expanse of rocky sand next to the bitter ocean, a waif, hardly real. But he feels her strength, that stubborn resolve to protect at any cost. She has in the weeks that followed her rescue from the facility and Will’s corruption taken his place as their centre. She is the one they revolve around now. The icy breeze like a caress against their shared senses, their shared skin as it lifts her hair and his mind sees Will’s fingers twisted through the fine, almost white strands, flashed through with the blue of electricity. She turns and smiles at the shared thought, her thin arms wrapped around her tiny bird like frame. She steps against him and he folds her into the warmth of his body, sharing its heat while she radiates welcome coolness against him. 

“How’s he doing Carino?” he rests his chin on the top of her head as she nuzzles against him, basking in the heat of his flesh as he does in her chill.

“He’s still safe.” But her tone betrays her worry and frustration at the lack of progress. Will is physically with her but the drugs she has to feed to him to protect them all locks him away. It is pain beyond anything any of them have ever felt, the cluster is incomplete without him. It harbours an open wound but it is her agony that is the true barb that stabs at all of their hearts. 

She sighs, “ I know Kala is trying but …” she doesn’t need to finish, he knows that she does not blame her sister pharmacist, more it is the fact she feels powerless. “I don’t know how we’re going to survive like this without him, for how much longer I can cope with his mind made blank by the drugs. I remember the first time I saw him in the church. What struck me was his wholeness, his life force was so strong and it’s gone. I just want him back.”

“We all do and it will happen. We will become one again.” Slowly he rubs his hands over her back, her jacket barely thick enough to protect her from the weather and his own mind drifts to the first time he saw Hernando. The emotional response he felt so strong like electricity emulates what the girl he holds experiences. She feels it too and lifts her head, her lips tinged blue stretch into a smile at the shared memory.

“Tell me.” It is the demand of a child and the plea of a woman eager for a story to take away the pain of reality that scrapes against her very core and his. He pulls her down to the stony floor of the beach settling her body into his lap and wraps her in his arms, cradling her against him, a rush of affection for her almost dominating his own senses. She settles quickly, the cold of her face against the heat of his neck. He knows her need for words are only the longing for a sense of normality, that she is in his mind and can experience it there but he can in that moment deny her nothing, just as he can never deny Hernando.

The spice of coffee is thick in the air, iridescent with motes of dust from the books piled around the walls. The heaviness of words and ideas, solid like silent speech, the atmosphere weighted down and yet he is home. He’ll never know what pulled him here but it is like an invisible thread fixed to a point deep inside him. Coffee he loves but is a lazy connoisseur easily pleased with high street brands; but books. He laughs to himself. He should love them. His life is words, words on thin pages, spewing forth from his lips and others, weightless, meaningless until he gives them a soul. But books in some strange way scare him. In them are words of meaning and power that remind him of the futility and banality of those he speaks that drift away with the tide of film goers. These are permanent, remembered, quoted, learned like lessons.

He is over the threshold before he can think why he would want to until he sees him and then everything makes perfect sense; because he sees him. The corner in which he sits is glowing with light coming through the coloured glass in the upper windows, painting the contours of his face, highlighting the high cheekbones and warming his full lips still wet from the mug he’s just lowered from his mouth. A slight frown mars the skin between his eyebrows and he feels his thumb twitch with the longing to smooth it away. As he puts the mug onto the scarred surface of the table in front of him he leans fractionally forward and his glasses slip down his nose and he pushes them up using the middle finger of that hand. The other clutches a tatty book the title almost obscured, obviously a treasured possession and irrational jealously rips through him at the interest, the obvious affection this god has for what is held in his hands, what his eyes devour and his brain is filled with. Before he knows what he’s doing he’s moving towards him his breath hitching, his eyes unable to tear themselves away. Christ he’d felt lust before. The stomach twisting, dry lurch in the belly that goes straight to the cock. But this is different. Yes, he wants him who wouldn’t, he’s perfection personified. Even under his rather ill-fitting clothes he can see a toned, lithe body less muscular than his; one that he would enjoy dominating, pressing against a wall, over a table or against his sheets. He can almost see his long, delicate hands twisting in his sheets, hear his moans muffled by pillows and it is enough almost to send him running to the nearest men’s room. But this is different. More than anything he wants to hear his words. To listen to him speak. To experience the nuances in his voice as it turns from happy, to sad, to angry, to excited. To hold his hand in the rain and the sun. To run his fingers in affection through his crisp dark hair. To have him smile and know that it is only for him. He is like the polar opposite to him and he is pulled ever forward, caught in the magnetic attraction so potent if feels like it should be tangible.

And then it happens. Those eyes dark as the coffee in his mug raise and look deep into his soul and he knows he is lost and has never been so happy. The mouth that he knows he was born to kiss stretches into a smile…

“…. and he said one word.”

“Hernando.” Riley’s voice throbs with the emotion that only another so linked to him could feel.

“Hernando.” He smiles into her hair as he feels her mouth brush a gentle kiss against his throat and gathers her tighter just for a moment.

“I know. And thank you.” And then she’s off springing out of his embrace, running like a child towards their love, leaving him on the beach alone for a moment but never truly alone in body or mind.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing this series and first time in writing for an age so sorry if I am rusty. But had to do it. This series just blew me away with its originality and powerful connection I felt to the characters. I cannot thank my darling friend ( you know who you are for introducing me to this and a week of watching when I should have been busy with other things!) enough for the introduction. 
> 
> Would love to hear what anyone thinks.


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